The penthouse was dead silent when Franklin unlocked the front door late that night.He ripped off his tie, his eyes scanning the living room.

The shattered crystal from last night had been swept away by the staff, leaving the space looking immaculate.But the deep, jagged scratches on the glass coffee table remained, a glaring reminder of Cadence's violent departure.

Driven by a restless, gnawing anxiety, Franklin walked toward the master bedroom.

He pushed the door open.A suffocating emptiness immediately crushed his lungs.

He turned on the lights in the massive walk-in closet.

His heart dropped straight into his stomach.

Row after row of expensive, pastel-colored haute couture hung perfectly in place.Every single garment he had ever bought to shape her into the ideal Mueller wife was still there.

He pulled open the velvet-lined jewelry drawers.Millions of dollars in diamonds and pearls sat untouched.

Franklin walked into the bathroom.

The expensive perfumes were still on the shelf.The only things missing were her cheap, drugstore face wash and the thick medical textbooks she used to read before bed.

She had stripped her presence from his life like a surgeon cutting out a tumor.She didn't take a single dime of his money.

Franklin stared at the dry bathtub.The phantom sound of her choking gasps echoed in his ears again.

A massive wave of guilt and frustration exploded in his chest.

He pulled his arm back and drove his fist straight into the bathroom mirror.

The glass spider-webbed outward with a sharp crack.Blood welled up across his split knuckles, but the physical pain barely registered over the ringing in his head.

He walked back out to the living room and dropped onto the sofa.He picked up the crumpled divorce petition, his eyes burning holes into her sharp, elegant signature.

His phone buzzed against the glass table.

The caller ID flashed: Eleonora Mueller.

Franklin took a deep breath, forcing the violent storm in his eyes to settle before answering.

"Grandmother," he said, his voice steady.

"The grand banquet for my eightieth birthday is this weekend," the matriarch of the Mueller family stated, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Every old-money family in New York will be there. You will arrive on time, and Cadence will be on your arm."

Franklin's grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white.

"Cadence is... indisposed at the moment," he tried to deflect.

"I don't care," Eleonora cut him off coldly. "Do not let that little actress Isabelle ruin this family's reputation. The only Mrs. Mueller is Cadence."

The line went dead.

Franklin tossed the phone onto the cushion.The pressure in his chest was becoming unbearable.He needed to find Cadence.

Franklin dialed Hilary's number.

"Where is she?" Franklin demanded, his voice thick with aggression.

"Sir," Hilary stammered, her voice shaking. "We can't find her. The moment she left the building, every security camera on her route was wiped clean by a top-tier hacker. It's like she vanished into thin air."

Franklin froze.

A top-tier hacker?

His brows pulled together in deep confusion.How could a sheltered, new-money medical heiress possess the kind of counter-surveillance power needed to blind the Mueller intelligence network?

He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, staring down at the glittering grid of Manhattan.His eyes narrowed, turning dark and incredibly dangerous.

He realized he hadn't just lost a submissive wife.He had let a completely unknown predator out of its cage.

Franklin turned around and looked at the coffee table.The heavy sapphire engagement ring sat there, mocking his absolute loss of control.

Franklin walked over and snatched the ring up.He squeezed it in his fist, the sharp prongs biting into his raw skin, bringing a sharp sting of clarity.

"Wherever you're hiding," Franklin whispered to the empty room, "I will drag you out."

Midnight in Manhattan.

Outside 'The Box', the city's most exclusive and debauched underground VIP club, a blood-red Ferrari roared to a halt.

The butterfly doors swung upward.

Cadence stepped out onto the pavement, her stiletto heels clicking sharply against the concrete.

She radiated a lethal, magnetic energy.

The modest, high-necked dresses were gone.

She wore a plunging, black sequined slip dress that clung to every curve of her body like liquid night.

The thin straps left her back entirely exposed, showcasing the massive, blue-black butterfly tattoo that seemed to flutter with every step she took.

Kenzie Garner, her socialite best friend, looped an arm through hers and let out a loud whoop.

"Now that is the real Chase heiress!" Kenzie cheered.

They bypassed the massive line of wealthy heirs begging for entry.

Cadence tossed a solid black card at the bouncer, who immediately parted the velvet ropes, ushering them into the ultra-private VIP tunnel.

Inside, the bass vibrated through the floorboards, thick in the chest.

Cadence and Kenzie walked straight to the most expensive center booth, bathed in flashing neon lights.

The moment Cadence sat down, a pack of trust-fund playboys-who usually ignored the boring Mrs. Mueller-swarmed the booth like sharks smelling fresh blood.

High above the dance floor, hidden behind the tinted glass of a suspended VIP balcony, Franklin sat in a leather armchair.

His face was a mask of thunder, a glass of bourbon resting on his knee.

Julian sat across from him, sighing. "The cameras are blind. We can only hope someone in this cesspool has seen her."

Franklin sneered. "Cadence would never step foot in a place like-"

His eyes casually swept over the crowd below.

His voice died in his throat.

His gaze locked onto a figure in a black sequined dress sitting dead center in the club.

The woman turned her head, the strobe lights catching her flawless, smoky-eyed makeup and a cold, breathtaking smile.

Franklin's pupils contracted to pinpricks.

It was Cadence.

But it was a version of her he had never seen. Wild, aggressive, and dripping with raw sexuality.

His eyes tracked down to her bare shoulder.

A massive, dark tattoo covered her skin.

His heart skipped a beat. He had never noticed the butterfly tattoo on her back before.

Down in the booth, a cocky heir leaned over Cadence, offering her a flute of champagne.

"Mrs. Mueller, out slumming it alone?" the boy smirked.

Cadence took the glass.

The corner of her mouth curled into a wicked, venomous smile.

"Don't mention that disgusting name," she said, her voice carrying clearly over the music to the people around her. "I finally dumped that blind trash."

The booth erupted in gasps.

No one could believe the usually timid Cadence dared to publicly humiliate Franklin Mueller.

Up in the balcony, the heavy bass drowned out her voice.

But Franklin didn't need to hear the exact words.

He saw the way she looked at the playboy, the venomous, mocking curl of her lips as she gestured vaguely toward the VIP balcony above, and the way the entire booth erupted in shocked, exaggerated gasps of disbelief.

The absolute disdain radiating from her posture painted a crystal-clear picture of his public humiliation.

A sharp, violent crack echoed in the balcony.

The crystal bourbon glass shattered in Franklin's fist.

Amber liquid and blood dripped onto the floor, but he didn't even flinch.

A blinding, possessive rage hijacked his brain.

He shot to his feet, a dark, murderous aura rolling off his massive frame.

Julian jumped up, grabbing his arm. "Franklin, don't. You're in public."

Franklin violently shoved Julian's hand away.

Down below, Kenzie raised her glass high. "To freedom! To taking out the trash!"

Cadence clinked her glass against Kenzie's and tipped her head back.

She swallowed the champagne, a few golden drops escaping her lips and trailing down her throat into the deep V of her dress.

That single drop of alcohol burned the last shred of Franklin's sanity to ash.

He stormed out of the balcony, heading straight for the stairs.

The bouncers and waiters took one look at his face and practically threw themselves against the walls to get out of his way.

Cadence lowered her glass.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the towering, furious silhouette cutting through the crowd.

Her heart gave a single, hard thump.

But instead of running, a dangerous thrill lit up her eyes.

She leaned back against the leather sofa, crossing her legs, waiting for the beast to walk right into her trap.

Franklin parted the crowded dance floor like Moses splitting the Red Sea.

He shoved past bodies, knocking trays out of waiters' hands, completely ignoring the alcohol splashing onto his custom suit.

Before he could reach the booth, Hunter Croft-a notoriously sleazy billionaire heir-slid onto the leather sofa right next to Cadence.

Hunter leaned in close, his eyes raking over her exposed chest with blatant hunger.

"Why don't we take this up to a private suite?" Hunter purred, his breath reeking of expensive vodka.

Cadence didn't flinch away.

Instead, she leaned back, a lazy, provocative smile playing on her lips.

She raised her hand and hooked her index finger around Hunter's silk tie, pulling him an inch closer.

Franklin reached the edge of the booth exactly as her finger touched the fabric.

The sight of another man in her space detonated the last of his control.

A low, guttural snarl ripped from Franklin's throat.

His massive hand shot out, clamping down on the back of Hunter's collar.

With a terrifying display of brute strength, Franklin yanked the 180-pound man backward and hurled him across the room.

Hunter crashed hard into a glass table.

Bottles shattered, sending shards flying as the crowd shrieked and scrambled backward.

The club's security rushed forward, but the moment they recognized Franklin Mueller's murderous face, they froze, terrified to intervene.

Franklin stood over Cadence, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a manic, bloodshot fury.

Cadence remained perfectly still.

She didn't even pull her hand back from the empty air where Hunter's tie had been.

She slowly tilted her head up, looking at Franklin with eyes as cold and dead as a winter lake.

"Are you trying to punish me?" Franklin hissed, his voice vibrating with rage. "Throwing yourself at garbage like Hunter?"

Cadence let out a soft, mocking scoff.

"At least Hunter knows how to please a woman," she shot back. "Instead of worshipping a pathetic liar like an angel."

The word liar pierced straight through his chest, hitting the exact spot of his new paranoia.

A surge of guilty panic spiked his adrenaline.

He leaned down, slamming both hands onto the sofa on either side of her thighs, trapping her completely.

The sharp scent of cedarwood and pure aggression suffocated her.

"Stop this insane tantrum right now," Franklin ordered, his voice dropping to a lethal growl. "Come home. Before I crush the Chase family into dust."

Cadence's eyes narrowed with absolute disgust.

"Dream on," she spat.

She brought both hands up and shoved hard against his solid chest, trying to break the suffocating proximity.

Her resistance triggered a sick, twisted possessiveness inside him.

Franklin's hand whipped out, his long fingers wrapping around her slender wrist like a steel vice.

His grip was bruising, nearly crushing her bones.

He yanked her violently off the sofa, dragging her flush against his body.

Kenzie screamed and lunged forward, but Julian appeared out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her back.

"Don't," Julian warned Kenzie in a harsh whisper. "You'll just get her hurt. He's rabid."

Franklin wrapped his other arm around Cadence's waist, practically lifting her off her feet.

"Let me go!" Cadence snarled, kicking her stiletto heel hard into his shin.

Franklin didn't even blink.

He turned his head, sweeping a terrifying, icy glare over the silent crowd.

"This is my wife," Franklin announced, his voice echoing in the dead quiet of the club. "Anyone who looks at her again loses their eyes."

He didn't wait for a response.

Ignoring her violent struggles, he dragged her toward the dark, narrow VIP exit corridor.

Cadence glanced back over her shoulder.

Hunter was cowering on the floor, trembling like a beaten dog.

The physical disparity between her and Franklin was too great.

As the heavy soundproof door slammed shut behind them, plunging them into the dim corridor, Cadence stopped fighting his grip.

If she couldn't beat him physically, she would use words sharp enough to gut his arrogant pride.